


maybe santa isn't a scam after all

by calwasfound



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Family Dynamics, Gen, Humor, basically sbi family shenanigans thrown together with some holiday-themed humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calwasfound/pseuds/calwasfound
Summary: “In order to prove Santa’s real, we’re going to build a trap to catch him,” Tommy announces gleefully, rubbing his hands together. “See what the big man’s made of and all that!”“If you do that you’lldefinitelyget on the naughty list,” Techno points out.-Or, Techno has plans for Christmas that definitelydon'tcenter around his building a pulley system in the chimney, amongst other assorted things.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 32
Kudos: 217





	maybe santa isn't a scam after all

Techno is in the chimney.

The events that led to his current predicament were, honestly, both quite avoidable and easy enough to pass onto someone else. It also is entirely his fault.

 _Why am I doing this?_ he asks himself, followed by, _Is the pulley system still functional in the dark?_ and then, _Phil hasn’t cleaned this chimney in years._

If he looks up, he can see the moon directly overhead. It shines at its peak, completely illuminating the otherwise shadowed interior of the chimney. According to his calculations, Techno has approximately twenty-three minutes before it shifts out of view completely and he’s forced to work in the dark. 

He sighs, braces himself against the sooty bricks, and pulls out his screwdriver.

-

It all started this morning, when they were eating breakfast at the dining table and Tommy started one of his early-morning tangents. 

“Tubbo’s coming over today,” Tommy informs them casually over his bowl of cereal. “Me and him are going to stay up late tonight, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Him and I,” Techno points out. 

Tommy’s face scrunches in confusion. Wilbur sighs, stirring his cereal. “Techno, no grammar corrections at the dinner table.”

 _“Yeah!”_ Tommy roars, punching his fist in the air. “You tell him, Wilbur -”

“If Tubbo’s staying for dinner,” Phil interjects, having made his morning appearance and is making a beeline for the coffee machine, “You’re setting the table.”

Tommy slumps in his seat. Techno makes eye contact with Wilbur, and a silent conversation happens between them: _whose turn is it to wash the dishes?_

“I’m thinkin’ we should make Tommy do the dishes as well,” Techno finally says.

Tommy bolts upright. “Now, c’mon -”

“The last time he was allowed near the sink he flooded it and broke two plates,” Phil says firmly, “And I am _not_ buying new ones until the next year.”

Tommy looks _way_ too smug about the mention of his kitchen fiasco for Techno’s taste. Wilbur nudges Techno’s elbow. “First to finish their cereal doesn’t have to do the dishes tonight.”

“Oh, it’s _on,_ ” Techno agrees, and the next minute is just him and Wilbur putting their faces in their bowls and attempting to finish their breakfast at the speed of light while Tommy watches them in equal parts glee, horror, and disgust. 

Techno slams his bowl on the table. “Blood for the blood god,” he rasps. Wilbur, who still has two and a half cornflakes left, is halfway through raising his spoon from his bowl. 

“Jesus, Techno, did you even chew your cereal or did you just swallow it whole?” Tommy asks with incredulity.

Techno gives him a thumbs up and tries to keep himself from coughing up a cornflake. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“You suck,” Wilbur grumbles, but there’s no heat behind his words. “At least I get to ride shotgun for Christmas errands today.”

“It’s a Christmas miracle you didn’t lose this morning more than you already have,” Tommy snickers, and Wilbur raises his spoon as if he’s about to gut his younger brother with it. Behind them, Phil drains his cup of coffee like it’s a shot glass. 

“If you don’t stop squabbling right now,” Phil threatens, “I’ll make all three of you sit in the back, no matter what the rotation is,” and the table lapses back into a pleasant silence. 

After a few minutes of Tommy picking moodily at his cereal, the doorbell chimes cheerfully. “That’s probably Tubbo,” he announces, perking up immediately. “I’ll get the door -”

“Sit,” Phil says, not unkindly, “And finish your cereal. Techno, you get the door.”

Tommy slumps in his chair. “Why do I need to finish my food? My bones are already as strong as they’re gonna get. They’re practically unbreakable.”

“It’s to correct your atrocious posture,” Wilbur says. 

“Use words that aren’t pulled directly out of a thesaurus, Wilbur.”

Techno leaves his bickering siblings in the dining room and wanders down the hallway to open the front door. Sure enough, when he pulls it open, Tubbo’s standing on the threshold, swallowed in a huge monstrosity of a scarf that still doesn’t manage to hide his infectious grin. 

Techno gives Tubbo a smile. He can’t help it; there’s something about this kid that makes everybody around him go a little bit soft. “That scarf is huge.”

“My mum made me wear it,” Tubbo pulls a face, coming inside as Techno props the door open. “I think I’m stuck inside. There’s at least three knots in this thing.”

 _“Tubbo!”_ Tommy comes skidding around the corner, his eyebrows raising into his hairline as he takes in Tubbo and his scarf. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Scarf,” Tubbo supplies helpfully. He’s trying to unwrap it from his neck, to no avail. There’s at least five folds in this thing, and those are just the ones that are visible. Techno’s impressed. “I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

“Okay, let me just -” Tommy attempts to help Tubbo extricate himself from the scarf, but only succeeds in somehow entangling Tubbo _more_. “Techno, are you going to help?”

“Look, Tommy, my expertise is _not_ in scarf de-entanglement.”

“Just because you live in only your stupid _cape_ does not mean you’re free from helping Tubbo with his scarf.”

“For the record,” Techno says, affronted, pulling at the crimson fabric of his coat, “It’s a _cloak -”_

“Tommy, I think you’re making it worse,” Tubbo attempts to say, but his words come through muffled from multiple layers of fabric. “Can we get Wilbur to help? Oh, hi, Wilbur!”

“Hello, Tubbo,” Wilbur says genially, having made his way from the kitchen. “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?”

“Tubbo’s stuck in his scarf and Techno’s just standing there in his cape and not doing anything.”

_“Cloak.”_

Wilbur takes one look at Tubbo’s predicament and instead of attempting to unwrap the knot of scarf, just sort of pulls the entire thing over his head. Tubbo breaks free with a shake of his head, eyes bright and hair slightly standing on end from the static. 

“Thanks, Will!”

“No problem.” Wilbur ruffles Tubbo’s hair, which somehow makes it stand up even more, before grinning at Techno. “Tommy’s right, though, a cloak is just a glorified cape.”

“It’s all red,” Tubbo says cheerfully, unfolding his scarf. “Makes you look like Santa.”

Tommy scoffs. “Santa isn’t real.”

“Yes, he is,” Tubbo insists, turning around with an eager expression, “I promise he is! How’d you explain the presents, then?”

Tommy looks like he was about to reply with something snappy, but holds it back at the look in Tubbo’s eyes. “Okay, big man,” he grumbles instead, “You got me there.”

Techno would’ve almost counted the moment as heartwarming, but Tommy had that mischievous glint in his eyes that Techno had last seen when Tommy and Tubbo set a hundred bees loose in the science building. _Oh no,_ he thought faintly.

“In order to prove Santa’s real, we’re going to build a trap to _catch_ him,” Tommy announces gleefully, rubbing his hands together. “See what the big man’s made of and all that!”

“If you do that you’ll _definitely_ get on the naughty list,” Techno points out. 

However, Tubbo was already nodding enthusiastically. Apparently his “belief” in Santa didn’t extend to “respect”. 

“We’ll see you later,” Tubbo calls as Tommy drags him away to the living room, most likely to construct the trap to end all traps. “Phil! Do you know where the power tools are?”

“Shed in the backyard,” comes the faint reply. Techno and Wilbur watch the two boys disappear from sight, standing in mutual disbelief. 

“Santa’s going to be _wrecked,_ ” Wilbur finally says. 

Techno snorts. “Along with the living room. How’s Phil goin’ to put out the presents now?”

“Hmm,” Wilbur muses. “Wouldn’t it be funny if the presents _did_ magically appear, though? Tubbo would be ecstatic. Tommy, on the other hand, would lose his shit.”

A loud revving noise comes from the backyard. Phil stumbles into the hallway, glancing at Wilbur and Techno. “That was the _chainsaw_. Do either Tommy or Tubbo know how to use the chainsaw?” 

The revving noise only increases, followed by the loud screeching of metal against wood and an excited whoop. Phil winces and doesn’t wait for a reply, hurrying to the backyard, muttering profanities and something about an eviction under his breath.

Wilbur claps Techno on his shoulder. “I’ll let the kids get to their Santa-trapping,” he says jovially and leaves to go upstairs, no doubt to practice chords on his battered guitar.

Techno scrubs a hand over his face and lets out a deafening sigh. 

-

That was this morning. Approximately fifteen hours later, Techno is now wedged securely into the chimney. There are three things Techno needs to finish in his twenty-three minutes: 1) constructing his pulley system, 2) transferring the presents underneath the tree, and 3) making his escape without being noticed. 

He asked Dream for help with constructing the blueprints for the pulley system to fit in the chimney because Dream has a known habit of appearing and leaving in places he’s not supposed to be, like roofs during the peak of midnight and people’s chimneys. On the _regular,_ and not just for Christmas escapades. 

_Hammer, check._ Techno pulls the tool out of his pocket and starts chipping away at the plaster holding the bricks of the chimney up in order to get a hole to put a screw in. _Smoke machine?_ He glances up at the top of the chimney, where a long shadow stretches. _Check._

He needs to make sure the pulley system is secure enough for him to not fall to his injury below, but also easily removable enough to deconstruct and flee after his job is done. Seems doable enough. 

_This is not_ my _type of chaos,_ he grumbles to himself as he affixes a gear to the lip of the chimney opening and starts tightening it in place. 

-

Sometime during the afternoon after Christmas errands had been run, Techno saw Tubbo and Tommy’s trap and he did a double take.

They’d affixed _motion sensors_ \- really, _motion sensors? where did they even get those from?_ \- in all corners of the room, along with cameras. It was complete with a half-built assortment of tripwire hooks, wooden cages, and a… trebuchet?

“Tommy,” Phil says, “We’re not keeping the trebuchet.”

“Phil,” Tommy argues, “What if Santa gets away? We need to have something to -” he makes a sharp jerking motion with his hands that would make any sane man go pale at the implications. Phil just looks unimpressed. 

“You’re not catapulting the poor bastard into the moon,” Phil reiterates. “Take down the trebuchet -” Tubbo appears, a grin on his face and chainsaw in hand - _“Outside.”_ The grin and chainsaw are dropped.

“That’s no fun,” Tommy grumbles, but he and Tubbo start dismantling the trebuchet into transferrable parts. 

Techno joins Phil where he’s standing in the hallway, surveying the landmine that used to be their living room. They both watch Tubbo and Tommy take down the trebuchet, and Techno’s thankful that Tubbo, who participates in the tech crew for the drama department, is handling the bulk of the dismantling. 

“I think I’m just gonna put the presents in the fuckin’ hallway,” Phil mutters to Techno. “I’m not setting foot in the living room unless I’m sure I’m not at risk of death.”

Techno tilts his head. “I think I could get through,” he remarked.

If it came from anybody else, Phil would’ve laughed and dared them to test it. Since it was Techno, he just sighs and says, “Don’t break anything important,” before heading to the kitchen to start making dinner. 

Techno stands in the hallway, looking at the Santa-catching trap, his brain clicking, and he suddenly has an idea. 

-

It’s almost halfway past midnight. It took him twelve minutes and two dropped bolts, but Techno managed to build the skeleton of the pulley system. Shifting in place - he’s been bracing himself inside the chimney with his boots against one wall and his back against the other, and Techno’s knees are starting to feel the stress - he starts to affix the rope to the pulley gears.

 _All because I wanted to test whether I could beat this trap,_ he thinks as he ties a knot, then again to make sure it doesn’t slip. _It’s not even a professionally-constructed trap._

He knows Tommy and Tubbo are probably awake right now, lying in wait. He thanks whatever all-powerful entity that controls the universe - besides himself - out there that they didn’t have the foresight to put a camera in the actual chimney.

Techno surveys the pulley system one last time and hauls himself out of the chimney, dusting soot off his hands. _Time for step two._

-

After witnessing Tommy and Tubbo’s trap in the afternoon, Techno had first started building his plan as a joke. It was simple: _maintain the theatrics and the theatrics-only part of Christmas for just a little while longer._ He’d wait until Tommy and Tubbo passed out - children don’t pull all-nighters, do they? maybe he’d get Wilbur to play a song to knock them out - and then he’d sneak into the room and set the presents Phil got under the tree. It was simple and required less than ten minutes of his time. Easy. There were no flaws in his plan whatsoever.

Then he witnessed Tommy and Tubbo chugging at least three Red Bulls each before dinner (with more probably stashed away for later) and he _knew_ these kids were not getting more than a blink’s worth of shut-eye for the entire night. 

He was attempting to figure out _how_ he was supposed to get into the room during the night when Wilbur came bounding down the stairs, guitar in hand.

“Techno,” he greets with a laugh, “You know, your cloak kind of makes you look like Santa.”

Techno tugs on the scarlet material of his cloak. “Wilbur, I wore red before Santa did. He’s stealin’ my style.”

Wilbur continues laughing. “Hey, Mr. Claus, what’d you get me for Christmas?”

“Stop -”

“You’re looking a bit empty-handed, big man,” Tommy hollers from the living room.

“I’m not -” Techno gives up and heads to the kitchen to escape his siblings. “Phil, they’re bullyin’ me for looking like Santa.”

Phil doesn’t even look up from the stove, poking at the chicken. “Don't you have presents to deliver before you eat your food?”

“Oh my god.” 

Amidst Wilbur’s cackles from the hallway, the faint sound of guitar strumming and a surprisingly in-tune rendition of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” comes floating into the kitchen. Techno can _hear_ the shit-eating grin in his brother’s voice. 

That’s it, he decides, he’s replacing Wilbur’s Christmas present with coal. 

-

He really doesn’t want to give Wilbur credit for the chimney idea with his Santa bit, but in reality it sparked the whole reason why he was on the roof in the early hours of the morning. Maybe Techno shouldn’t have taken the whole “being Santa” idea and ran with it, but he’s already halfway through this marathon. 

He’d informed Wilbur about his plan - sparing some details - and Wilbur had graciously offered entry to the roof from his window after he stopped hysterically laughing to himself about it. Altogether, a good trade-off. 

Techno yanks the extension cord across the roof and plugs it into the smoke machine. It’s dry ice-fueled, so he doesn’t have to worry about the house burning down due to a fire-related mishap. Techno exhales and eyes his sack of presents from where it’s safely tucked underneath Wilbur’s window ledge.

He would’ve worried about being seen, but Wilbur’s the one whose room is in the attic and therefore the only person who has access to a window that overlooks the roof. Also, he has a tendency to sleep through events with noise ranges large enough to wake up their neighbors, a phenomenon that has been proven countless times before. Techno doesn’t want this Santa escapade to be one of said noise-inducing events, but he has a feeling it might end up that way. 

Techno flicks on the smoke machine, waits for it to start warming up, and glances up at the moon. He can do this. 

-

Before the night fell, dinner brought Techno back home after pulling in some known favors he was owed by various friends (the dry-ice machine from Quackity, gears and bolts from Bad, and twenty dollars from Skeppy. The twenty dollars were used to purchase fireworks that may or may not pose as a potential fire hazard.)

Tommy, Phil, and Tubbo were already seated at the table, all three of them covered in sawdust stains and smelling slightly like metal. Techno notes a stray screw (star-bit) on the table and tucks it into his pocket. 

“Hey Tech,” Phil greets, “Where’s your brother?”

“Probably still in his room.” Techno drops down into his seat, reaching across the table to pour himself a glass of water. “Why do all three of you look like you’ve come from the tech shop?”

“Phil helped us with our trap!” Tubbo reports cheerfully. 

Techno froze. _Oh no._

That added some complications into his plan. Phil, unlike Tommy and Tubbo, was actually capable of building a functional trap that would, if used in the real world, definitely catch a poor soul. 

However, Techno knew Phil. He set up his tripwire hooks regularly at ankle-height and his traps had a reaction time average of four seconds. His nets came from below and pulled the victim up, rather than pinning the prey underneath a weight from above. 

Techno frowns. He shouldn’t have referred to the trap’s victim as _prey._ That just made him regret his choices even more. 

“Uh… Tech? You good?” Phil asks curiously.

“I’m fine,” Techno responds. If his voice was a bit strangled, that was between him and nobody else. 

“I think Techno just understood Santa’s fate,” Tommy says noncommittally, stabbing his chicken with way more force than necessary. “If I was him, I’d be worried too.”

“Techno or Santa?” Tubbo asks curiously.

“Aren’t they the one and the same?” That was Wilbur, dropping into his seat next to Techno. 

“That bit is over,” Techno says despairingly, “Can we _please_ move on?”

Wilbur only smiles serenely and reaches across the table for the string beans, which Tubbo passes to him. After serving himself, he then hands them to Techno, who hands them to Phil, who doesn’t even bother taking the chance of Tommy serving himself greens and just dumps a forkful on Tommy’s plate. 

_“Phil,”_ Tommy whines, “I was gonna get them myself eventually.”

“No, you weren’t,” Phil says smugly, and returns the beans to Tubbo. 

“Okay, Dadza,” Tommy grumbles, and continues stabbing the food on his plate. One of these days he’s just going to straight up shatter the ceramic with his fork, but that’s a problem for a future day. 

Dinner passes in relatively low chaos. Phil brings out two pies - the five of them make short work of one and it becomes a contest between Tommy and Tubbo to see who can finish the other.

The rest of the night finds them crowded around the dining table watching The Grinch on Phil’s beat laptop. Techno shifts in his seat, pulling his knees up underneath his chin, trying to get comfortable. Tommy is experiencing the same discomfort, but he complains about it loudly instead of bearing it like Techno does. 

“That’s your fault for rendering the living room untouchable,” Wilbur says. 

Tommy scowls and sticks his tongue out, though everybody knows he isn’t _really_ upset. Tubbo pats his shoulder sympathetically and scoots his chair next to Tommy’s so that they can share one large, makeshift seat. 

A good way through the movie, it’s apparent that sleep is starting to take hold. Wilbur is practically passed out, his head resting on his folded arms. Both Tommy and Tubbo are becoming more tired, the initial caffeine buzz fading away as Tommy’s head droops closer and closer to Tubbo’s shoulder. Techno hopes for half a second that they actually fall asleep instead of manning the trap, but Tommy snaps back to the present after a particularly agonized screech emits emits from the Grinch, tinny from the computer’s speakers. Foiled again. 

Now _Techno_ faces the problem of fighting off sleep’s insistent grasp. He raises himself from his seat and asks, “Does anybody want any hot chocolate?”

Four hands immediately go up, including Phil’s and Wilbur’s - wasn’t Wilbur asleep a second ago? He sighs. “Don’t bother pausing the movie.”

“You’re not missing anything,” Phil reassures Techno, “The green fucker’s just going to continue monologuing about Christmas.”

Techno snorts at that and makes his way to the kitchen. The hot chocolate is made quickly - extra marshmallows for Tommy, cinnamon in Wilbur’s, half a mix packet in Phil’s. He doesn’t exactly know what Tubbo prefers but figures extra marshmallows are also a safe bet and just tops it off with the rest of the bag. 

Finally, he pours coffee in his mug - thankfully, the movie audio covers up the sound of the machine. It’s dark, so the contents of his mug should be hidden well enough. He makes his way back to the table with relative ease and passes out the drinks.

“Ooh, marshmallows!” Tubbo comments cheerily as he accepts his cup. Tommy clinks his mug against Tubbo’s in a sort of cheer, but doesn’t manage to evade Wilbur’s thievery of a couple of his own marshmallows. There’s a small scuffle that Phil quiets with a pointed cough, and Techno makes quick work of his cup of coffee. 

“Why didn’t the Grinch just destroy the presents immediately? Or more permanently?” Tommy asks as they near the end of the movie. It’s a fair question, Techno has to give it to him.

“He could’ve just burned them,” Tubbo says in the same cheery tone. 

“Tubbo,” Tommy warns, which is a first, “No Big Arson appearances after 5 PM.”

“I thought you condoned arson,” Techno says dryly.

Tommy opens his mouth to reply, then frowns, considering Techno’s comment. Wilbur breaks the pause by saying, “I would’ve just eaten the presents.”

“What, like swallowed ‘em whole?”

“Like sand,” Wilbur says with his eyes glinting, as Phil interjects, “Do _not_ bring up the sand.”

“Phil,” Wilbur whines, dragging out the vowel, “It’s an _experience_.”

“‘Acquired taste’ is more like it,” Techno mutters into his cup.

“You’re going to get brain damage if you keep that up, Wilbur,” Tommy informs helpfully. 

“The best part is when the bits get between your teeth and you get that satisfying _crunch,_ ” Wilbur continues, heedless of any protest.

“Alright,” Phil says, slamming the laptop shut and cutting off the movie - it was fine, they were practically at the credits anyways - “Bedtime. Tommy, Tubbo, make sure you brush your teeth. Wilbur, remember to do the dishes before heading upstairs. Techno, help him bring the mugs to the sink.”

Techno follows Wilbur to the kitchen and drops off the mugs. When he nears the whiteboard tacked on the front of the fridge, he rubs away the number _8_ under _“days since Wilbur mentioned eating sand”_ and replaces it with _0._

“Now _I_ have the higher number,” he announced smugly.

Wilbur levels an unimpressed look at him. “Two days for avoiding self-plugging your fencing statistics is not considered a high number.”

“Speaking of my fencing statistics -”

Wilbur lunges for the dry-erase marker and Techno laughs. He doesn’t continue his statement, however, and no scuffles ensue. Tommy and Tubbo are setting out their sleeping bags in the living room, and Techno can see Tommy surreptitiously hiding a Red Bull underneath his pillow as Phil lectures them on how to reset the trap. 

“Don’t get your head taken off by the axe,” Wilbur whispers theatrically as he turns on the sink faucet.

“There is no axe in the trap.”

Wilbur winks and Techno shoves him lightly. “You’re insufferable,” he grumbles.

“Good luck tonight, Techno,” Wilbur says, reaching for a plate. “Don’t break anything important.”

“Well, good thing the only thing I have on that list is your window.”

“Now _that’s_ the Christmas spirit.”

Wilbur claps Techno on the shoulder with his sudsy hand and Techno sighs. He leaves Wilbur to do the dishes and heads upstairs, listening to Tubbo and Tommy talk excitedly amongst themselves as Phil clatters around.

He sighs, debates on sending a quick text to Phil letting him know that there’s a slight chance all hell will break loose in a few hours, and prepares for his mission.

-

Techno has ten minutes remaining. The smoke machine is warmed up, the pulley is working, he has the presents in hand - Wilbur’s gift swapped out for coal. 

Now, for the theatrics. He pulls out the fireworks and a match, balances them on the flat section of the roof a little ways outside of Wilbur’s window, and sets them alight.

It takes a few seconds for the flame to take ahold, but there is a deafening _CRACK_ and the first firework sails into the air, sending smoke trails across the roof and into the sky. With a flurry of sparks, the second one also shoots upwards, accompanied by shouts and pounding from downstairs. Techno’s already in the chimney by the time the third and fourth go off, inching his way downwards and praying that the smoke machine doesn’t fall. 

Somewhere in the house, Phil is probably bolting upright in a cold sweat. Tommy and Tubbo are most likely being drawn outside by the fireworks, and Techno can hear their hollers from the lawn. The novelty of the fireworks will only last for a short amount of time - he needs to work while the living room is cleared. 

Right before he is about to exit the chimney, he carefully moves the pulley so that the smoke machine has access to the opening. Switching it on, he watches as smoke spills along the floor, dense and thick, and slowly starts to gain more height as the machine continues running.

The smoke was supposed to act as a cover to hide from the cameras, and the actual smoke itself triggered the motion sensors. Techno moves the pulley so that the presents are accessible and waits for one, two breaths before hopping out of the chimney, making his way to the tree. 

It’s barely visible through the smoke and he hops above the tripwire hooks (two of them, ankle height as suspected) before setting the presents underneath the tree. He makes sure to include one for himself as well - to draw away suspicion - and is about to hop back to the chimney when the door opens.

He freezes and makes eye contact with Phil, who stares, absolutely taken aback, at Techno’s silhouette through the smoke. Techno belatedly hopes that Phil won’t recognize him, but he’s Phil’s son, and Phil raises his eyebrows at Techno after a brief moment of recognition. 

“The house isn’t going to burn down,” Techno whispers in a panic, attempting to appease Phil. He’s losing time, the kids are going to be back inside any second now-

Phil nods slowly, his eyes still wide. “I’ll keep them outside,” he says finally, and Techno nearly falls over from relief. Phil points a warning finger at Techno. “The house better not be fuckin’ burnt to ashes after this.”

Techno salutes and Phil shakes his head fondly before disappearing back outside. The rest of the way back is easy - before Techno leaves, he gingerly places a little box in the middle of the net on the ground. It’s filled with layers of increasingly smaller boxes, with a tiny slip of paper at the center of it all that reads _“gottem”_ in fine print. Maybe not Santa-themed, but he had to do it anyways. 

Techno toes the tripwire hook and the net snaps up with the box. The smoke has almost finished fading away as he inches his way back up the chimney. Escape managed.

Finally, he makes it up. The pulley is still secured in the chimney and he debates on dismantling it now or on Christmas day when he hears a shout from the front yard.

_“Someone’s on the roof!”_

Techno, in a panic, abandons the pulley system and makes a mad dash across the tiles. He spots a window and practically kicks it open before ninja-style breaking into said person’s room, which is thankfully out of sight of the lawn. 

Somewhere in the room, Wilbur snores, still fast asleep despite the chaos. 

Breathing heavily, Techno stays sprawled on the floor and stares at the ceiling. Above him, Wilbur’s curtains flutter. There is muffled commotion from two floors down but Techno allows himself a moment to regain his breath.

Dimly, he can hear Tubbo’s hiccupping laughter as the duo enter the living room and survey the scene, followed by a _“WHAT THE FUCK?”_ from Tommy.

Techno laughs quietly to himself, hearing Tubbo and Tommy’s excited shouts from below, and mentally gives himself an approving nod.

-

In the morning, Techno stumbles downstairs and makes a beeline for the coffee machine, nearly beating out Phil.

Phil raises an eyebrow and gives Techno a tired grin. “Sleep well, Tech?”

“Kindly give me my caffeine,” Techno grumbles.

Tommy practically bounds into the kitchen, his eyes bright and somehow still overflowing with energy. Techno just looks at him, his eyes barely staying open. “Techno!” he roars, “Good morning, brother mine!”

“‘Acquaintance’ is more like it,” Techno mutters lightly. He side-eyes the coffee machine. 

Tommy makes a face. “Well, you’re just a ray of fuckin’ sunshine, aren’t you.”

Wilbur stumbles downstairs, yawning. “What’s going on?”

Tommy turns on Wilbur and Techno immediately busies himself with the coffee machine. “Wilbur, you’re not going to believe what happened last night.”

Wilbur lifts his head and locks eyes with Techno, who shrugs guilelessly. “What happened?” Wilbur asks, his voice considerably less sleep-slurred.

 _“Santa!”_ Tubbo interjects cheerily, appearing by Tommy’s side. He looks equally as energetic, though his hair is standing on end and he is holding one of the cameras in his hand. 

“I was _getting_ to that, Tubbo.”

“Well, you can introduce the evidence, then.”

“Evidence?” Phil asks, suddenly taking an interest in the conversation. Techno’s too busy draining his first cup of coffee to find it in him to care. 

“It’s not _really_ evidence,” Tommy explains, jabbing at the buttons on the camera, “Just… here.” He shoves the camera into Wilbur’s hands, who squints at the screen. 

“Huh,” is all he says before he tosses the camera at Phil, who catches it. Techno and Phil squint at the photo. 

There’s just a red blur barely visible through the dry-ice smoke clouds. Definitely a person, no other discerning features visible. Techno decides he needs another cup of coffee.

“Huh,” Phil repeats. “And what proof is this?”

“Everybody knows Santa wears red,” Tubbo explains. 

Wilbur sends Techno a smug look from across the room. _I told you your cloak makes you look like Santa,_ he mouths.

 _Stop with the bit,_ Techno mouths back over his mug. 

“He’s right, though,” Phil mutters out of the corner of his mouth. He sounds suspiciously like he’s attempting not to laugh. Techno ignores that last fact. 

He’s not wearing the cloak he wore last night now, which would’ve been too suspicious. It is still covered in soot stains, shoved hurriedly into his closet last night. 

Thankfully, Techno thinks dryly and not without humor, he has spares. The difference in the cloak he’s wearing today compared to yesterday’s is practically unnoticeable. Tommy still is determined to believe he only owns one singular cloak and wears it all the time, which, _gross._ Techno may have a persona to keep up but he’s not unhygienic about it. 

“Doesn’t look much like _evidence,”_ he points out. “Skeptic” _is_ a vital facet of his aforementioned persona, to be fair. “Looks like a trap malfunction.”

Tommy scowls at Techno, snatching the camera out of his hand. “I’m gonna throw this at your face.”

“Okay,” Phil interrupts, “Let’s go open the presents.”

They all traipse into the living room after Phil neatly dismantles the trap - “I could just smash it,” Tommy offers, and is immediately shut down - and settle down onto the couches after hassling each other about which presents are for whom. 

They all go through the presents they got for each other, bickering lightheartedly, before getting to the ones “Santa” put out. Tommy gets a rather nice gaming keyboard that shines in multiple technicolor lights. Tubbo gets a huge stuffed bee plushie that he immediately christens Hector, out of all names. Phil gets a new headset after getting shit for his old one - “The quality was so scuffed,” Wilbur snorts, and Techno agrees - and he takes off the pin-up cat ears Tommy put on the headset as a laugh. 

Needless to say, when Wilbur peels open his package only to find two disappointing black lumps of coal, placed lovingly amongst packed tissue paper, he isn’t happy.

Tommy, on the other hand, is absolutely ecstatic. _“Wilbur,”_ he practically howls, rolling on the floor and clutching his sides, “You’ve done it _this_ time, big man!”

Wilbur levels a death glare at Techno, who hides his smug smile behind his fourth cup of coffee. “I think,” he says, _“Santa_ made a mistake this year.”

“Santa never makes mistakes,” Techno remarks, deadpan. Tubbo nods sagely from his pile of carefully opened presents, package paper folded neatly. 

“Say goodbye to late-night TV marathons,” Tommy cackles amidst peals of laughter. “Bad kids who get coal for Christmas don’t get to stay up late on weekends!”

“I’m going to sell this to Sapnap,” Wilbur mutters, “And I’m going to tell him to burn down the high school.”

“No indirect arson allowed,” Phil says cheerfully from his armchair, sounding more awake now that he’s nursing his own cup of coffee, “Or else you’ll _definitely_ lose TV privileges.”

“What about _direct_ arson?” Tubbo pipes up. 

“The three G’s,” Phil says, holding up three fingers. 

“Government property,” Techno starts. 

“Graveyards,” Tommy adds. 

“And _g-not-in-my-fucking-house,_ ” Phil finishes. 

“I don’t think the last one starts with ‘g’,” Wilbur points out, but Tubbo’s already nodding, a cheerful grin on his face. If Big Arson makes an appearance, Techno’s not claiming responsibility. 

“What’d Santa get _you?”_ Tommy asked Techno. He’s _still_ lying on the floor. “It better be a lighter or some shit.”

“I got…” Techno fumbled for his box and pulled it open, trying to remember what useless object he’d thrown in his box before he wrapped it - “...socks.”

Tommy frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked like he was trying to find something to say about them, but couldn’t come up with anything. “Huh.”

“You know what they say,” Tubbo says, “If the socks fit…”

“That’s not the saying, Big T.”

“What else would it be?” 

Techno’s pretty sure Tubbo’s joking at this point, but he isn’t entirely certain. He settles for adding, “I’m pretty sure that’s how the sayin’ goes” just to irk Tommy. 

“Sure, Little T,” Tommy mocks. 

“Hello,” Wilbur interrupts, “Don’t want to interrupt your ego-measuring contest, but does anybody -” he narrows his eyes at Techno again, Phil cackling in the background - “want to explain why I got _coal_ for Christmas?”

“You know,” Tommy remarks, “Just because of that, I think I believe in Santa now.”

“You should’ve seen his face when we got inside and the presents were there,” Tubbo says eagerly, “I think the cameras got it.”

_“Hey!”_

Laughter ensues and even Wilbur joins in. Techno settles down into his armchair, glancing at the scene - his family, safe and happy and bickering about Christmas - and thinks, _maybe Santa isn’t a scam after all._

**Author's Note:**

> me in june joining the mcyt fandom: haha i think i'll just post doodles of the funny block men
> 
> me, in december, writing this: oh no
> 
> anyways, find me on [tumblr](https://calwasfound.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/sugarcal__). i mainly do art, but i had fun writing something for a change :]


End file.
